He's Got The Whole World in His Hands
by nitrolead
Summary: Arthur wanted to cry. He seriously wanted to find a lonesome corner in this old, yet aesthetically pleasing Russian hotel where no one would bother him and where he would just cry and bawl his lungs out for an entire day to ponder where he had gone wrong in raising Alfred. Had he been too strict with him? Or had he not been strict enough?


A/N: Greetings! It's been a while since I've written a Hetalia fic, or anything for that matter, but while I was cleaning out my hard drive earlier this week, I found this gem hidden away in there. I polished it up a bit and here it is. Enjoy!

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**He's Got the Whole World in His Hands**

Arthur thought that it being a Saturday he would get to sleep in and he would have, were it not for the incessant banging on his front door. He let out a pained groan and with great effort raised his head off his pillow to check the time, but found none. Instead, he was met with the sight of a lamp and nightstand he did not remember buying. Confused, he rubbed his tired eyes and squeezed them shut to concentrate.

_Right..._

It all came back now.

Arthur had decided to check-in early at the hotel before the conference began on Monday. Russia was very cold this time of year and the weatherman on the BBC had reported St. Petersburg was due to experience a snowstorm early Sunday morning. Hence, the decision to leave his London bachelor pad two days early.

Unfortunately, many nations were endowed with foresight like he was and had rearranged their travel schedules accordingly... such as the nation standing outside his front door at the moment. And Arthur meant "at the moment"- any more pounding and the door would fly off its hinges or his visitor would get mauled by the red-eyed Australian who was rooming across the hall.

"The British are coming! The British are coming! The British are coming!"

In a few bounds and with speed he thought himself no longer capable of, Arthur leaped from his bed, flew across the living room and opened the front door. In his hurry to pull The Annoyance into his suite, Arthur had stubbed his toe on the door.

"Haha! That always works! Anyways," the American's tone quickly changed into a serious one as he slapped his hands on the Englishman's shoulders, "I have a dire situation on my hands."

"A 'good morning' would be nice," Arthur grimaced. _It must be five in the morning for God's sake. _It was the least he deserved. "And do you even know what 'dire' means?"

Alfred ignored his question. "Nah, man. It's not even morning yet: it's like 4am right now."

Arthur shrugged the hands off his shoulders and muttered his way to the coffee machine. He pushed the buttons to get the coffee going and turned on the television for some background noise, seeing as Alfred was not making any. "Well? What is it?" He said pulling out a chair to sit on. "I haven't got all day."

"As a matter or fact, you've got exactly nineteen hours and twenty-two minutes left and that's almost a day, right?"

"Alfred," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm very close to throwing this cheap hotel coffee at you."

"Okay, okay, I'll get to the point. _Sheesh_."

Alfred checked the four corners of the room to make sure that the coast was clear. Arthur lifted one of his eyebrows, suddenly taking an interest in what he had to say. It was the American's demeanor to just blurt out what was on his mind before giving his words thought. If Alfred F. Jones was checking his surroundings before speaking as a normal person would, then Arthur was all ears. They were, after all, in the former Soviet Union and the American was still wary of-

"I can't stop jerking off."

Arthur choked on his coffee. "Argghghgh! You fool!" The Englishman managed to cough out, "What's the matter with you?!"

"That's the thing!" Alfred raised his arms, not at all phased or concerned by his friend's reaction, "I don't know! It's like I can't get her out of my mind! Of all the chicks... why did it have to be her? Why!" Alfred grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Tell me how to stooooop, Artie!"

But Arthur did not.

Arthur did not inform the American how to stop masturbating. Instead, his face contorted into _The Scream_.

"Urghlahhrr..."

"Dude?" It was when Alfred stopped shaking him momentarily to ask why he was speaking like a person possessed that he noticed.

"Oh, my bad!" He quickly removed his hands, embarrassed. "But I clean my hands right after so there's nothing to worry about, y'know."

"Yes, there is!" Arthur exclaimed in his mother tongue, "Because now I know that you did it recently!"

"...more like an hour ago."

Arthur wanted to cry. He seriously wanted to find a corner in this old, yet aesthetically pleasing Russian hotel where no one would bother him and where he would just cry and bawl his lungs out for an entire day to ponder where he had gone wrong in raising Alfred. Had he been too strict with him? Or had he not been strict enough?

But maybe...maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe, something in Alfred wasn't wired right, that little thing in the brain that told people when giving information became "too much" information.

"Dude," Alfred's voice came like a soft echo as his brain recovered, "I don't know what you're getting all upset about. I mean, you shake hands with Ivan and Francis and Felix and a whole bunch of other countries, y'know? Did you ever stop to think about that, huh?"

Arthur noticed too late that the American's words were taking a toll on his body. The more he listened to the words coming out of his mouth, the more he felt his limbs going numb and his brain turning to mush.

Per usual, Alfred did not notice. "Hey, now that I think about it..."

_Please Alfred, for the love of all that is sacred on God's green Earth, PLEASE just stop thinking and above all, stop TALKING you dumb sack of- _

"... this applies to chick countries too, right? I mean, it'd be downright sexist to assume they don't masturbate as much as we do, right? Hey!" Alfred smacked Arthur's shoulder to signal the arrival of a new epiphany, "So if I shake hands with you, and then I shake hands with, say, Elizaveta... it'd be like you two were having sex! But in my hand!"

Arthur was never the same after that Saturday morning in St. Petersburg. Be it Mumbai, Brussels, Tokyo, or Sydney or anywhere else in the world for that matter, he began to carry a bottle of hand sanitizer in his briefcase. He also began keeping a can of pepper spray on the counter next to his front door.

Just in case.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it! R&R ladies and gents!


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